


Trial and Errors

by CapnRoseandBosunThorn



Series: Trial and Errors [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Hetalia, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnRoseandBosunThorn/pseuds/CapnRoseandBosunThorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pairing of Prussia/Denmark/England who have just gotten married. But England's big brother isn't too happy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Luck turned Sour

**Author's Note:**

> JUst so y'all know what you're getting into... I disclaim all right to characters and claim rights to mine ideas. Just a warning for this chapter and all the way through. The main pairings are the Isle siblings and DenmarkxPrussiaxEngland. Heavy incest, abuse, GAY SEX, magic, sex, swearing, strange accents, GAY SEX, human names, dragons, GAY SEX and most of all a large heaping of GAY GAY GAY GAY SEX. I mean, there’s some bondage and capture and weird stuff going on, but if you’re a complete homophobe, don’t say I didn’t warn you. VERY VERY GAY. (With like, a single straight pairing that involves INCEST.) You have been warned. Seriously. Now have fun reading~

“Who d’ th’y think th’y ‘re?” Wales, youngest of the British Isle sibling, winced as Scotland slammed a fist down on the table. The eldest scowled like a summer storm, face so red with anger it nearly matched his hair. Ireland was fingering the handle of her hammer with one hand, eyes misty and narrowed as she gazed into her crystal ball. The images flashed across the smooth surface under her fingertips. Her northern twin had both hands on the globe, his own grass green eyes misty and far away.  
The image the twins were focused on did not seem particularly harmful. Prussia and Denmark were napping, their heads on England’s lap as the short blonde read a large novel, reading glasses perched on his nose. The tall countries’ legs went off the ends of the couch, but they all appeared comfortable. Extremely comfortable, as all three were in boxers and England was wearing an unbuttoned shirt, while the other two sported plain white tank tops.  
Britain turned the page and got a crick out of his neck, glancing down at the two on his lap fondly. He closed his book, folded up his glasses and put them on the coffee table, running his hand through the messy tangle of blonde hair and the colourless tresses of the other.  
The angle changed smoothly, North wincing as it did so, as if they were seeing out of the TV. Britain and the two figures were easily visible from this angle as he stroked their hair and then leaned down, kissing each of their foreheads and then sitting back and relaxing, eyes closed for a moment.  
Scotland growled at each kiss. The youngest in the room swallowed uneasily, and clutched the table, almost unhappy not to be breathing in the signature cigar smoke. All four tensed in the small dusty room as the subject of their scrying opened his eyes curiously, glancing around; his piercing eyes finding them, blinking, squinting. He said one word and Wales recognized it; but only because he’d heard it for his entire existence; Ireland?  
The twins shuddered at their collective name, closing their eyes and lifted their hands from the globe as if burned. Wales blinked, sinking lower in his seat, almost unsure what was going on, and he glimpsed the same curiously bothered expression lividly obvious on Scotland’s face across from him. Then, North and South Ireland were in a tangle, North clutching at South and murmuring in Gaelic. She held him fast, in turn, their foreheads pressed against each other as they repeated a recalling phrase in slightly differing accents. Eventually, Wales recovered from his confusion to understand what they were saying, though its significance was lost on him.  
“T’e wind, t’e tide and back… back… back…”  
The Irish pair repeated the mantra, holding each other tightly, their freckled fingers twisting into strawberry blonde locks. The images had fled the surface of the globe the moment they had lost contact with it. Finally, their strange saying changed and they both sounded a little less far off.  
“T’e wind, t’e tide and in… in… in…”  
Both stiffened and then relaxed into an Irish heap, almost as if they had come. Carlin kissed her brother’s forehead, he kissed her neck and then both opened grassy green eyes, looking at Scotland. The eldest glared back, his mossy eyes defiant. “W’ll?”  
Their minds must still have been working as one, as they spoke in a harmonic unison. “He g’t in, as he dos, and he knows. He pushed us ‘ut, found out why we were scrying and th’n let us reel ourselves ba’k in… and he left us a litt’e somethin’.” The two of them licked their lips and gave Scotland identical lazy grins. “Yeh know ‘ow he is.”  
Alistor growled and stood, pacing the room. Wales sunk into his seat as the male Ireland pulled himself from his sister’s embrace and slid deftly across the table, taking his seat again. Both twins were blushing as they realized what they had been doing, slightly embarrassed as they came back to their senses. Scotland’s fist landed on the table again.  
He put both large hands on the table, flattening them. “Th’s ‘s wh’t we’r goin’ t’ do. We’r goin’ t’ steal our brother back.” Wales blinked.  
A long time ago, they had all lived in a big house, both when Albion was alive, and after she died. Scotland, whose virginity had been taken by invaders, made an executive decision. His siblings would find it better if they were to lose theirs to family. And as the strongest and most willful, he made it so. Not as if any of them would have been bothered to stop him; incest wasn’t a word that would matter for several hundred more years; and even now it didn’t.  
However, the twins had had each other, and South had no interest in her Northern-most brother. So Scotland made do with North Ireland for a bit. England was next, and Wales could remember feeling slightly guilty that night, and every night for the next week. He walked in on them three times before locking himself in his barn with some of his dragons at the time and summoning food from the kitchen. He would never get the images of England; cheeks flushed as he was pounded into the counter until it broke; of Scotland with his thick fingers wound through England’s blonde hair as his battered younger brother sucked him off; or of England yet again, strung up in his own room like a pig for slaughter, his eldest brother smirking as he teased him to the point of pain; out of his head. He was pretty sure England had already lost his virginity, but he would never ever tell Scotland such a thing.  
As youngest, Wales had been last, and it had almost been a family bonding experience. He could remember North’s tongue, his mouth on his neck, England’s bright eyes and how his older brother had filled him, and Scotland’s reassuring murmurs, their soft touches and reassurances, the cigar smoke that followed Scotland like his personal cloud, the way his Irish brother had yielded easily below him…  
Back then, they had had Arthur. Back then, he was theirs. Now he was Prussia’s and Denmark’s; and he knew the Nordic and German would enjoy and treat his brother well. They probably took better care of him than he could himself. But Dylan had a niggling feeling he was going to help Scotland. He was the boss after all…  
“We’r goin’ t’ remind ‘im who his family is.” Wales swallowed at the words, wondering where his mind had been for all of five seconds, because the words translated into: We’re going to fuck his brains out and he’s going to like it.  
South shifted and the twins made eye contact over the table, probably sharing a telepathic message before looking back into the green fiery depths of Scotland’s eyes. Mossy green fire.  
“An’ when thos’ two com’ fer ‘im, we make sure we aren’t welcomin’. Got it?” All of his siblings gave curt nods, not particularly pleased with his assignment. They had all done worse of course…  
Being part of the Irish Mafia made these things every day… but that was, again, a long time ago…  
Wales sighed.


	2. Happy Together

England had not woken his husbands. A simply scrying was nothing to worry about-right? And the twins basically let him into their minds via the front door… Like they had wanted him to know?  
Right now, it was too much for England to process. And he was still on his honeymoon… technically. They had found a country that wouldn’t damn them to hell for getting married, gotten married and then shipped off to Prussia’s cute little micro nation. Awesome micro nation, sorry.  
And hey, who didn’t enjoy consummating their marriage? Prussia had resisted bottoming for all of ten minutes and then shut up after that. Not an intelligible word passed his lips. After flying to Denmark, the Dane bottomed and they broke three beds to boot. Now they were in England, Mathias and Gilbert literally in Britain most of the time. The Brit, for his part, had given up protesting and just let them wander downstairs naked, pull down him boxers and wish him good morning by fucking him into the counter; or just caved in when one of them pulled the short blonde into his lap and onto a hard-on he hadn’t previously noticed.  
He glanced down at the two tall countries on his lap. He had loved and lost both, only to make them his now. With a sudden feeling of conviction, he promised he wouldn’t let them go ever again. The rings on his fingers said as much-one silver, one gold. Denmark’s were the same, on opposite ring fingers, and both of Prussia’s were gold. And by silver, England meant a silver-alloy, and by gold, he meant honestly gotten gold. Being Vikings and pirates in the past had some very definite perks.  
Denmark shifted in his slumber, rolling on his side, head pressing against Britain’s thigh as he turned to face the tea-loving country. His blue eyes opened for a second, and he blinked lazily, smiling brilliantly up at Arthur.  
“Good morning Artie.” The Dane yawned and stretched, hand sliding under England’s thigh and curling around until Denmark was hugging his husband’s pale leg.  
“It’s the middle of the afternoon you twit.” Britain smiled, despite the insults he used. He continued petting Denmark’s head, playing with the crazy strands of hair.  
“Keseseseseseseses! You’re going to make lunch then, ja?” Prussia had been awoken by their talk and flipped onto his belly, doing the same as Denmark, arms wrapped around England’s left leg. The two of them were staring up at him and Arthur could feel their hands meet under his knees, pale fingers interlocking under the muscle behind his knee-cap, holding hands just out of sight.  
“I have a meeting today with Germany and I have to leave in…” He looked up, checked a large clock in roman numerals. “Four hours, and you lazy wankers want me to make lunch? Hmmm… let me see…no.” He raised his enormous eyebrows as the two tall men made pouty faces. “After that, I have a meeting with Sweden, and I’m sure to die the-“Britain didn’t get to finish the sentence.  
He didn’t recollect exactly when Denmark had unwrapped his arms, or when Prussia’s hands had come to rest on his thighs, but he did know that the Dane’s tongue was in his mouth and Prussia’s cool hands were snaking all along his torso, tracing scars gently. Arthur clutched the couch, and then found himself holding them, a white-knuckled hand around Prussia’s toned arm, and arm around Denmark’s waist.  
England sighed as the two pulled away, Denmark kissing his cheek with a grin and down his neck before flopping down on the couch beside him, Prussia chuckling and stealing a kiss before doing the same. All of their cheeks retained a slightly pink tint, Mathias and Gilbert looking so self-satisfied Arthur punched their arms lightly.  
When he got up, he got his ass smacked in return as he reluctantly went to make lunch.


	3. Dragon's Den

Wales sighed and pet his dragons quietly, surrounded by five of the great (usually scaly) creatures. He had mastered the languages of the world’s ancient inhabitants long ago, and had informed his green, blue and red friends about the problem at hand. TO any reasonable person, Wales sounded insane, making strange churring, purring and roaring sorts of sounds while adding a derisive snort in as if to punctuate.   
The dragons had found this perfectly reasonable, and seemed to be enjoying their ancient language coming from another. The conversation of sorts had started in a usual fashion.  
“Hello my friends. It’s a pleasure of the utmost to see you all.” Dylan had churred his greeting.  
And the fire-breathing lizards blessed with flight had brightened up. Just coming out of mating season, all four females were land-bound and fat with eggs. The fifth was a strange male, also rather round with hatchlings. As it was quite uncommon to find gay dragons, Wales had let the couple stay with him, though in retrospect, Wales knew he should have seen it coming that the submissive male was pregnant. Magical creature’s gender didn’t often matter…  
After the flurry of purred greetings, Wales has asked after each of the dragon’s mates, asked how each of them felt, and if they needed anything. As standard greeting procedure, all five had asked him the same thing back. Wales had given them evasive answers per usual, settled down next to Cycil, the male (and the smallest), and then asked for their honest opinions.  
“Scot’s after England again, but his only reason why is that he isn’t…” Wales searched for the right words and phrases in the ancient language. “happy with his… bonded mates… They asked Scotland to consent to their bond, he refused, and they bonded anyway. They’re meant for each other. Now he’s going to steal England from them and try to drive them apart…”  
The dragons had given him their honest opinions and suggestions, and Wales had sat and sighed.  
He could warn England and take his punishment from Scotland. He could do nothing and see what happened. He could warn the rest of the Nordics and hope they cared. He could attempt to get Germany to help and get laughed at. It was no secret that the German didn’t approve of his brother’s match(es).  
The Welshman shook his head and stroked Cycil absently, fingers running through the short blue fur near Cycil’s neck. He was already running out of options and time.  
And North Ireland was currently running into the barn. He spotted Wales and ran foreward, snaking in between the dragons with rushed greetings. HE slid into Wales’s lap and held him brother tightly, panicked.  
“Sout’s out visitn’ ye gotta help me Dyl’n please. Scot’s aftr me b’cause Ah disagreed wi’t him, jus’ voiced a min’r complaint… Hide me please, Ah’ll owe ye one…” Connor’s cheek was bruised and he wheezed as if he had run all the way here from the manor. After a moment of hesitation, Wales nodded and kissed his brother’s cheek, gently moving his strong brother off of him and towards the red dragon.  
“Go to her, she’ll hide you. Sahana, please coil up around him- fake sleep.”Ireland caught the gist, making himself as small as possible and letting the Indian dragon curl up around him coil upon coil.  
Wales relaxed back against Cycil as Scotland strode in, glaring. The female dragons stared right back. The blue dragon nosed Wales’s shoulder gently and the forgotten part of the UK stroked his nose. The Scottish man stormed closer to his youngest brother and picked him up by the collar of his work jacket.  
“Wh’re t’e hell is ‘e?” The eldest was ape-shit mad, glaring for all he was worth. “Ah saw that idiot come in ‘ere! ‘E should stand up like a man an’ own up to ‘is mistakes!” The northern country bellowed at the barn walls.  
“N-not here Alistor…” Wales gasped, clawing at his borhter’s strong hands, his breathy accent beginning to truly lack air. “Put me down… p-please…?” The Welshman looked pleadingly at his brother, feet dangling half a foot off the floor moments before he was dropped. “What’s he done now?” Wales took deep breaths.  
“’E quest’ned getting’ Arthur back, an’ we’re gonnae do it because Ah say so. Anyone who’s got a problem wit’ that gets tha’ problem fucked right outta them.” Scotland snarled, and took his temper out on the nearest non-dragon object- which happened to be Wales’s side. The younger country winced again, taking a calming breath.  
This was so stupid. “I’ll accept his punishment for him Scotty…” The Welsh country could almost hear North’s intake of breath, reminding him that this was a stupid thing to do. Someone needed to calm Scotland down before South came home. She had been barren since the potato famine years ago, but had only ever loved her twin enough to sleep with him. And as mad as he was, Scotland would attack her in all ways the moment she got home.  
That was what Wales told himself.  
Strong fingers lifted his face, and Wales noticed numbly that Scotland’s cigar was once again missing. That was almost as foreboding as the look in his brother’s eye. The blonde swallowed shakily, forcing himself to meet his elder’s glare.  
“Y’d do that, would ‘ya?”  
“Y-yes. Yes brother…” Wales sighed, the numbness regretfully leaving him as the blue dragon behind him shook in fear. “Just one thing though…” Scotland hesitated, then nodded, hungrily watching Wales as the shorter gently pulled himself away to console the furry dragon. “Get out of my barn, you’re going to scare my dragons into premature birth…”


	4. Lazy days

England, flanked by his two conspicuous lovers, exited Germany’s official-looking office. Still alive, still whole.  
Maybe it had been because Prussia and Denmark had agreed to come with him, though Denmark had been necessary as well. Maybe Germany had been in a good mood. Could Germany ever be in a good mood…? Scary thought. Banishing it, England returned his mind to the question as Prussia navigated them through the labyrinth of this place. Had… possibly… the German seen then enjoying each other’s company as he strode haughtily past them..?  
Oh well… thinking about it hurt Arthur’s head. At least signing the papers had been easy. Papers that said Germany and Prussia’s micro nation were not obligated to, or part of, or even indebted to the UK ect. , ect. Then Denmark had to sign papers saying the same damn thing- couldn’t they have condensed it on one paper?  
And Prussia had laughed. Oh he had laughed, chuckling and smirking the whole time, earning enough disapproving looks from Germany that England had decided to let him off and not give him any foul glares. Though it was infuriating. To sign something legal that said your husband didn’t belong to you…?  
Arthur smiled at the thought of the glance he and Mathias had shared, looking around as they came up to the hotel they were staying in. Gilbert better know who owned him, and he was going to remember real soon.  
Britain smirked, unable to help his grin as Prussia struggled with the key a few times, pouting slightly as his blonde husbands simply watched him, smirking. When the albino managed the key, he flopped straight onto the bed, closing his ruby eyes and sighing happily. Mathias hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door behind him, closing it and hearing the lock with finality. England had idly stripped, tossing his shirt in Prussia’s face, hanging his tie on the back of a chair.  
“Keseseseseseses! Artieeeee, don’t be like that…” His grin was visible, even from under the shirt it was quite audible. Arthur rolled his eyes, walking quietly toward the bed. Denmark was stripping now, hurriedly taking off his boots and coat, eyeing his shorter lover from the back hungrily. The country in question crawled onto the bed, prowling foreward, straddling Prussia’s fully clothed form.  
Gilbert stiffened, rolled his hips up against England’s naked ass and exhaling softly, taking the shirt off his face and tossing it to the side. His red eyes focused before Arthur leaned in and kissed him slowly, grinding his hips down against Gilbert’s.  
Denmark, grinning like a crazy blonde hyena, undressed the taller of the two around the other. “I’m afraid we didn’t much like your giggling through all that paperwork babe.” Mathias kept grinning, lining up with Prussia’s entrance, taking a brutal hold on Prussia’s newly exposed hips.  
“So we’re going to punish you. You clearly don’t understand how bloody annoying it is to sign papers- lying papers that say things that do belong to you don’t…” Arthur piped up, releasing his pale lover’s mouth and bringing his tongue back inside his own with a smirk. Gilbert was already panting slightly, trembling a bit as the head of Mathias’s thick member grazed his puckered entrance. Clearly, the Dane and Brit had done well- the German hadn’t expected this attack and it made the blonde duo enjoy it all the more.  
Arthur, his hands playing softly across Gilbert’s pale, bare chest, smirked and licked a finger, drawing it slowly over Prussia’s perk nipples, a shiny line of saliva across his chest. “Mmmmmm~ Gil… Why t’e bloody fuck are you always so eager to be owned?” Gilbert gave a quiet whimper, trying to roll his hips, unable to, and opened his mouth as if to speak.  
He didn’t get a chance to.  
A little known fact- England’s ass had long since learned to accept both Prussia and Denmark at once, and the Brit adjusted fabulously and easily around either one at any time. Currently, Arthur was moaning, cheeks flushing pink and eyes fluttering closed as he pushed himself down onto Gilbert’s ready manhood. The German gasped at th warmth that enveloped him, the pleasure tingling up his spine, making him arch his back despite Denmark’s grip on his hips. So rather than the words he had been intending, a long moan left him.  
“F-f-f-fuck Iggy…” Gilbert yelped. “Ah! Mathias… ngh…” The two blondes set a rhythm, steadying themselves best they could. Denmark’s large hands on Prussia’s and England’s hips, one of Britain’s hands intertwined with Denmark’s; fingers interlaced and holding onto Prussia’s side.  
Arthur’s free hand was on Prussia’s lithe belly, and Gilbert’s own pale hand trembled as he sought out the warm appendage on his belly, interlocking their fingers. His other hand was clutching the sheets with a bone-pale grip.  
Mathias grunted, burying his face in his Englishman’s neck, shoving deeper and deeper as the Prussian relaxed around him. Arthur was panting, clutching their hands as he rose and fell in conjunction with Mathias’s thrusts. Gilbert’s toes curled as his beautiful sweaty husbands brought him closer and closer to the edge. Even in his lusty haze, he wrenched his hand from the sheets, pale fingers finding his shorter lover’s rosy member, stroking base to tip and pressing the tip of his thumb into the slit as his other fingers slid down a vein.  
The caress sent England fairly wild. Denmark hissed, matching his frenzied pace until all three were gasping and moaning as they rocked together; England’s cries soft mewls and gasping moans, Denmark’s grunts and growls guttural in his throat, and Prussia’s sensual moans made all the slapping and panting a complete cacophony.  
And finally, their erotically fast movements became too much, their cries mingling, their names tumbling out of each other’s mouths. “M-mathias… Arthur!” Prussia’s half-scream was most easily recognized, Arthur’s name a scream while Denmark’s was a gasp. He filled his British husband who’s low sob of “Gil… Mat-ngh- Den…” was overshadowed by the Prussian’s cry. The Dane squeezed everything under his hands with bruising force as he rumbled their names breathlessly, already smiling as bliss overtook him. “Art. Gilbert…”  
All three smiled lazily, smirks gracing their lips. England moved to the side, and the tall Dane leaned over, licking his lovers clean patiently. Only when he was finished did they roll onto their sides as they were, easily comfortable one inside the next inside the next.  
Arthur wrapped his legs around Gilbert’s lower back, winding his fingers through colourless hair and leaving a hand on Prussia’s shoulder. Mathias wrapped his arms around both, legs supporting Prussia’s butt, the arms of the albino encircling the blondes. Sated, they slept.


	5. Punishment

Wales had his eyes closed tight as he breathed shallowly. North hadn’t simply voiced a disagreement with the plan; he had refused to take part and perform magic for it. Dylan, gasping in pain, decided that he would find out exactly what had happened before taking punishment ever again.  
Two of Scotland’s thick, calloused fingers spread his tortured slit wide. The older country had already filled his unprepared ass to brimming, and was currently showing his youngest brother why you didn’t argue and you didn’t admit to agreeing with those who argued. The fiery redhead had stopped his victim from coming twice so far.  
And as Scot teased his perk, rosy nubs with his tongue and teeth, Wales screamed and shuddered as pain coursed through him, pain that should have been pleasure. But Alistor’s fingers, prodding a place so intimate inside him, halted him every time. Fresh tears streamed down his face and the ropes binding him cut him again, blood leaking down his wrists. Three times. Any normal human would have gone unconscious. Maybe died, or so it felt. Somehow, Wales found that rather likely.  
He felt Scotland shift closer, the fingers in him scissoring to spread him wider. Dylan let out a choked sob as his eldest brother kissed his jaw and whispered in his ear. “N’w mah wee br’ther. Wh’t’re ye ne’er goan’ta do ag’in?” His voice was rough, but probingly soft, and Wales could almost pretend that his brother cared for him intimately and was exacting ‘justice’ for North’s and his own ‘betrayal’. Almost.  
“Not gonna… disagree… wit you…” Wales was gasping as the rough fingers were joined by yet another. “Ever again…” He squeezed his eyes shut as Alistor nipped his neck.  
“Tha’s right. An’ wha’s goin’ta happen if ye disagree again?”  
“I won’t… ah… be treated to anything… as painless… as this ever… nyah… again…” He had run out of tears; his brother had licked them away, the words cotton in his mouth.  
Scotland had untied him, but the three fingers in his manhood stayed where they were. And then they were pulled out and Dylan was crying from relief. Alistor lifted him easily and Wales clung to him, burying his face in his brother’s broad shoulder. And Scotland ran fingers through his hair, and the fingers that had hurt him so were appeasingly stroking down his back. Probably tracing blood all over his bruised skin.  
He was on Scotland’s lap with the most painful hard-on, feeling about ready to faint. However, he didn’t as Alistor wrapped his arms around him and carried Wales to the bathroom and ran a cool bath. The younger sibling could practically feel the red haze of anger leave Scotland, and as the Scot manourvered him into the tub and water and then joined him, he knew Alistor would be calm for a while. Tell tale signs, but another was that the signature cigar was lit again.  
The water turned pink in moments, and Wales hissed. He was certain his ass leaked blood, his wrists gave it to the water, a bite on his shoulder dribbled it, and he was pretty damn sure his slit was wet with it. And he still had an annoying erection… with a soft wince, he allowed Scotland’s hands to roam all over him. The Scot placed kisses on his bleeding shoulder, bringing his little brother’s wrists up and kissing them gently with a sigh. “Dylan, why t’e bloody fuck’in ‘ell do ye le’me do tha’ to yeh? Did yeh… did yeh even agree t’it?”  
“You needed to get your anger out. South would have pounded you with her hammer or-er… ow- you would have exacted punishment on her… Either way, I couldn’t let you have North or give you a chance to hurt South.” The interruption stemmed from Scotland healing his shoulder and his wrists. The elder shook his head and silently pressed two fingers to Wale’s raw pucker. He muttered and Dylan blinked, feeling marginally better.  
Both of the Scotsman’s hands touched his acheing member. His touch was gentle, kisses placed on his neck and shoulders ever so quietly. The hand movements barely rippled the water. “Yer so brave Dylan, jus’ like mum w’s… Jus’ like Arthur… Hon’stly, all o’ yeh deserve a bett’r brot’er…” Alistor stroked his brother skillfully, whispering fondly in his ear. Wales made a soft noise of dissent out of habit, but it was overshadowed by pleasure-filled groans moments later.  
“No… shhh… AH ‘ave te’ most amazing siblin’s the world’s ever seen an’ Ah do ‘orrible things to ‘em…” He stroked and pumped his younger brother, the sandy blonde trying to keep himself from writhing, clinging to Scotland’s muscled thighs. His cries were weak and rather pitiful, blue-green eyes closed as his cheeks heated up. However, they fluttered open in protest, even as he bucked into the large hand surrounding him.  
“Nyah… You’ve done your… naahhh… best Al… your temper just…” HE gasped his brother’s name as he gave in, adding his pearly fluids to the pink water. Scotland pulled the plug and let the water drain, wrapping arms and legs securely around his brother. A cigar was conjured- or transported- and balanced on the rim of the tub as the younger shuddered and buried his face in the older’s chest. Alistor set the water running again, put the plug back in and held his brother, stroking him reassuringly.  
“Whn mah temper gets the bett’r o’ me, Ah know non of yeh could ever stop me. I’s mah survival instinct Ah supp’se. So… Ahm Sorry… but we’re goin’ ta’ do this. Those wankers never got mah blessin’ and they took ‘im with’ut permission, so they bett’r damn well earn it.” Dylan blinked his worn out understanding.  
Alistor cleaned him up gently, running soapy hands over every inch of Wales. The latter just relaxed in his hands and body, holding him close in gentle arms.  
Eventually, while Alistor was rinsing his hair, something occurred to the younger country. “S-scot… Artie will fight for them. They’re… bonded…” Wales felt Scotland tense and a finger was crooked under his chin, lifting his face to Scotland’s.   
“Explain.”  
“Denmark and Arthur… bound Prussia to them… the old way. Like dragons do…” He sighed, curling up in his brother’s lap. “Artie was so happy… had to tell me… fucked and magically… blood-bonded…” His explanation was vague, tiredness overwhelming him.   
The next thing he remembered was being in Scotland’s arms as the red-head muttered a drying spell. “Th’nk yeh f’r tellin’ me Dy…”  
Wales smiled gently. “I love you Al…”  
“Love you too Dylan… R’member that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday present for all you lovelies following my story~ CHAPTER 5~


End file.
